


Continuity

by anr



Category: Stargate Atlantis RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-28
Updated: 2006-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of everyone, he's the only one who doesn't have to worry about being chosen to kiss her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Continuity

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: aj

  


* * *

  


She's only been back at work a couple of weeks when she arrives at read-through to find Coop and Peter talking about it.

"Paul?"

"Nah, Weir'd eat Carson alive. David?"

" _Please_." Peter's sigh is loud and almost mocking.

"Well, we've gotta pick somebody," says Coop, matter-of-factly.

"I know, I know." She watches Peter look up and spy her at the door, juggling two Starbucks, her script and a box of Krispy Kremes. "Torri, hi. We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" She wanders in and takes her usual seat at the table. "Something wrong?"

"Nah," says Coop, leaning across to steal a donut. She pushes the box closer to the middle of the table. "Just trying to figure out your kiss de la saison."

Her eyebrow arches. "I think I'm sorry I asked."

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about." Peter says, smiling. "It's just a continuity thing we've been discussing. You know? Simon in season one, Thalan in season two..."

She stares at him, more than a little bemused. "There's continuity now as to who I kiss each year?"

The two men glance at each other, and then her. "Well, _yeah_ ," says Coop, like it's obvious.

She rolls her eyes. "Fine." Picking up her coffee, she takes a careful sip, regards them both for a moment, and then lets her curiosity get the better of her. "Alright, so who's it gonna be?"

Peter sighs. "We don't know. That's kinda the problem."

For the next fifteen minutes she watches them throw names and ideas at each other while they wait for the others to arrive, each suggestion (as far as she's concerned) more amusing than the last.

Mitch, Jason, Kavan, a return of Garwin... even Michael and Beau's names are tossed in as a possibility.

Nobody mentions Joe's name. She tells herself she's amused by that too.

  


* * *

  


It doesn't stay a secret -- if that's even what it was -- for long.

"My money's on Caldwell," says David, absently typing at the terminal he's sitting in front of. His fingers are quick on the keyboard and she can't help but wonder what it is he's typing (it's not like there's a real computer attached to it, being a prop and all).

Torri rolls her eyes, and doesn't say anything. Across from her, Rachel grins. "What I want to know," she says, swinging her legs as she sits on the terminal next to him, "is why nobody's betting on _me_."

Her delivery is too innocent to be anything other than a joke, but David still almost gives himself whiplash as he looks first at her, then at Torri. "Are you serious?"

Torri shrugs, and decides to play along. "Hey, you kissed Paul. _I_ wouldn't be that surprised if the producers decided on a female encore." Joe and Mitch are discussing blocking with Martin on the other side of the set, and she watches them a little impatiently, wishing they'd just hurry up and get this scene over and done with already.

Rachel snickers. "They do love their continuity, after all."

David's still looking between them both, as if assessing the validity of their idea, but his eyes have narrowed and Torri knows he's not really buying their pitch. So it's almost a surprise when he grins, suddenly, and turns back to keyboard. "Note to self," he says, typing way too seriously, "have all funds earmarked under Teyla's name. _Immediately_."

He hits the enter key with a flourish, and Rachel laughs brightly.

  


* * *

  


Episode three is Weir-lite, a teaser scene only, and usually Torri would make the most of that by staying as far away from the lot as possible, except Christina's been bugging her for costume refits ever since they got back to work and apparently ' _next week, Chris -- I promise_ ' isn't an acceptable answer anymore.

Four hours of measurements and fittings later, though, Torri's wishing she'd never answered her phone this morning.

"God," she sighs, throwing herself into the makeup chair next to Joe dramatically, "kill me now."

He laughs. "Rough day?"

She nods, and slouches down further. "You'd think Weir'd have brought an entire clothing line with her, the way Chris' acting." Joe's skateboard is propped against edge of the vanity, and she stretches just enough to toe the closest wheel. "I can count on one hand the number of times I've worn something other than red and grey, and it's not like that's gonna change anytime soon."

Joe shrugs. "You never know..." he says suggestively, and she shudders.

"Oh, please no."

He laughs again, and then flinches as Leah returns, swatting at his shoulder. "Don't move," comes the command, and Torri watches with amusement as the stylist starts carefully gelling his hair into an incorrigible mess of spikes.

She's just about to suggest that they grab a bite to eat, before he has to go on set and Christina tracks her down again, when Leah suddenly stops, wipes her hands, and then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a polaroid. Bemused, Torri watches her hold it up next to Joe's head, clearly studying the two.

Joe catches her glance in the mirror and rolls his eyes in a ' _can you believe this crap?_ ' kinda way. "Continuity," he says. " _Apparently_ it's _incredibly_ important that my hair look _exactly_ the same in each episode."

"Continuity," she repeats, the syllables twisting in her mouth like they taste bad. She's really beginning to dislike that word. "Really?"

"Really," answers Leah, slipping the photo back into her pocket and patting Joe on the shoulder. "You're all done."

"Great!" Joe grins, bouncing up from his seat and grabbing his skateboard in one swift move. He turns to Torri. "Lunch?"

"Sure," she says, returning his smile. "Let's go."

  


* * *

  


_Kiss de la saison?_ thinks Torri sometimes. _More like_ joke _of the season_.

Her co-stars aren't that bad, really, but it's a small set, for all the weekly guest stars and extras brought in, and they have to get their amusement somewhere.

Rachel's probably the worst out of them all, when she thinks about it, but it's not too hard to understand why. After two years of fending every possible joke about her character's fighting sticks -- and just _how_ exactly Rachel might be practising with them -- Torri can't blame her for making the most of the attention shift.

That said, she can't exactly thank her for it either.

"Eighty-three dollars."

"You overpaid," Torri says automatically, not looking up from her script. She has a scene with Joe in less than five minutes and there's still fifty-seven words she hasn't memorised yet.

"Not yet," says Rachel happily, "but I'm not so sure the others will be able to say the same."

_And if their High Priest demands a sacrifice, John? What_ \-- Huh? She looks up to find Rachel smirking at her. "Eighty-three dollars?" she repeats.

"Your kissing pool." That is said with _way_ too much enjoyment. "Wanna put some money on where your lips will be?"

Torri gapes at her. "There's a _pool_ now?"

Rachel nods, and slips into the director's chair next to her. "Going strong, too. Even the crew are trying to get in on the action."

As if on cue, a PA walks up. "They're ready for you, Ms Higginson," she says politely, and Torri can't help but eye her suspiciously for a moment. _What if..._

She dismisses the thought. Ten to one, Rachel's just pulling her leg about the whole thing anyway. "Thank you," she says. "I'm on my way." She watches the woman walk away, and then stands and looks around for her water bottle.

Rachel has it, and she holds it out like a challenge. "Your bet?" she asks sweetly.

Torri snatches the bottle off her. "That you all die slow and horrible deaths."

Rachel laughs, and says something like, "sorry, no cheating allowed!" as Torri walks away, more annoyed than she probably needs to be for the scene.

Sometimes, she really hates this industry.

  


* * *

  


And sometimes she absolutely loves it, if only because it is, by nature, such a fickle thing.

Six weeks into filming, with no decision having been made, and Torri's fast getting used to her co-star's jokes now. A semi-resigned acceptance that's helped a lot by the fact that the more everyone else talks about it, the _less_ the producers and writers mention it at all.

(Hell, if it wasn't for the fact that she heard it from Coop and Peter originally, she'd have probably written the whole thing off as a practical joke ages ago.)

Let her co-star's joke all they want, she thinks. From what she can tell -- it's not like it's going to amount to anything anyway.

  


* * *

  


Her new found optimism lasts all of two weeks.

"We've decided to rewrite scene twelve," says Peter on Wednesday morning, waltzing into the read-through with a wide grin.

There's a collection of groans and one, barely audible, "oh, you have _got_ to be shitting me," that may or may not have come from Jason's direction. Torri's about to voice her own put-upon disapproval when Joe grimaces and sets down his Starbucks like it suddenly tastes bad or something.

"You okay?" she asks quietly, leaning in, but he doesn't look at her, just glares at his coffee and slouches down further into his seat. Before she can ask again Peter says something and there's an answering explosion of cheers from the rest of their cast-mates.

"Way to go, Mitch!" says David, but he's grinning at _her_ , and Rachel is laughing and saying something like, _don't you mean, 'go Torri!'?_ only she can't quite hear her thanks to Jason's wolf-whistles.

She looks at them all, a little dumbfounded for a moment, and then sees Mitch's half-amused, half-embarrassed expression, and Peter's proud grin, and puts two and two together.

Oh.

So much for industry fickleness.

Peter doesn't stay long, just hangs around until the rewritten scene has been handed out to everyone, and then it's back to business, sotospeak, except nobody seems to want to run through the scene they were originally studying anymore. No, now everybody wants to read-through scene twelve (of course), despite the fact that only Mitch and her are in it, and Torri can't really say no, since this is what they have all been waiting for so eagerly.

(Personally, she thinks the scene was just right the way it was originally written, but she has a feeling she's the only one who thinks that.)

So she and Mitch start reading out their lines only for the others keep interrupting with suggestions and improvements and, after awhile, Torri just gives up and lets Rachel 'show her how to do it _properly_ '. Mitch follows suit a few repetitions later, giving up his place to Jason, and then it's just stupid, silly fun, watching her friends overact, so she almost doesn't notice when Joe excuses himself from the room.

But she _does_ notice and when he doesn't return after a few minutes, she remembers the expression on his face earlier, and excuses herself too.

He hasn't gone far, and she finds him leaning against the wall outside, face upturned to the sun.

"Hey," she says, standing in front of him. "You okay?"

He nods. "Yeah," he says, and then he looks down, and blinks. "Yeah."

She studies him, head tilted a little to the side, and then rolls her eyes. "Great," she says, "'cause you look like shit."

He snorts, and shakes his head. "Gee, thanks," he says, but there's a note of amusement in his voice now and that's just what she was hoping for.

"Self-inflicted?" she asks, taking a guess (she's been buying their morning coffees from the same Starbucks for two years now without any problems, after all), and he grimaces again.

"Unfortunately," he admits. "Peter and I went for a few drinks last night after work." He looks at her with what might almost be a smile. "Only I think I had more than a few."

She shakes her head -- is suddenly unsure as to whether she feels relieved or disappointed by his explanation -- and says, a little briskly, "well, don't look to me for any sympathy."

He does grins at that, and pushes himself off the wall. "Aww," he drawls, "please?" And his pitiful expression is so completely exaggerated that she can't help but laugh.

"Nope, not a drop," she says, turning with him towards the door, and by the time they've made their way back inside, he seems pretty much back to his normal self.

The others have resumed their study of act two.

She's not sure which relieves her more.

  


* * *

  


Two days into filming, the scene is rewritten again.

There's no kiss.

  


* * *

  


But there is six weeks later, when they're filming episode seven of the season. Quentin's a local actor (born and bred in Vancouver, he told her between takes yesterday) and the producers have hired him to play the delegation leader from Ornessa. He's been nothing but friendly and accommodating as they work through the script, but Torri can't help but eye him dubiously as they wait for their next cue.

"I'm sorry," he says apologetically, as Mary touches up his makeup for what seems like the hundredth time, "allergies, you know?"

Torri nods, and doesn't say anything, and then grimaces when he sneezes again. And again. And then _again_.

Spinning on her heel, she turns and walks away, and for a moment she thinks she's not gonna stop until she reaches the parking lot but then she sees Martin and Joe talking over by the Stargate. The next thing she knows she's veering towards them.

"You know what I think?" she says, not even caring that she's interrupting their conversation, "I think the scene'd work better with an Ornessan ritual of some kind. Like, maybe, a 'hands linked while they take a drink' type deal, to show the unity of their partnership."

She meets their blank looks pointedly while they work out what she's talking about, and she's pretty sure Joe gets it first but it's Martin who responds.

"Okay," he says slowly, "but how does a drinking ritual illustrate the connection growing between _them_."

She crosses her arms. "I've a better question for you. How does me getting the flu help next week's schedule?"

In the background, Quentin sneezes.

  


* * *

  


"I don't see why it bothers you so much," says Joe later. They're making their way back to their trailers, another day of filming finally over and done with, and Torri can't help but gape at him.

"Are you kidding me? The guy had the reddest nose I'd ever seen... and that was _after_ a tub of stage makeup had been caked over it."

Joe laughs. "No, I meant, _in general_. Why do you let it get to you? It's just a kiss. It's not like it's going to mean anything."

"But that's just it," she says, frustrated and unable to keep it from showing. "It _is_ meaningless and ridiculous and pointless... it's in _no way_ character building -- if anything it probably diminishes Weir to have her randomly kissing somebody _just_ for the sake of kissing them -- so why do it at all?"

Joe shrugs. "Why do I have to make it with at least two alien chicks each year?" he asks, and she knows it's rhetorical but that just makes her even more annoyed. She stops walking.

"Oh, _please_ ," she says, watching as he stops as well, and turns to face her. "Like the ratings in any way depend on Weir and her relationships."

"Well, maybe they would if you actually had some," he snaps back, and it's only then that it occurs to her that maybe, just maybe, he's annoyed too.

She wonders what about. Out of everyone, he's the only one who _doesn't_ have to worry about being chosen to kiss her. She'd have thought he'd understand.

Joe glares at her for a moment longer -- an expression, she realises, that she's quite happy to return -- and then turns and walks away. She makes no move to stop him.

  


* * *

  


Her last scene of the week is a control room scene, which means both Davids underfoot and Joe's voice on speaker, and if she sounds annoyed still, and if his tone is just a little too curt, well, that's only because the scene demands it.

Probably.

  


* * *

  


Less than four weeks to go until break, and Torri is desperately trying not to count down the hours and minutes until she can head back to LA and escape this madness.

She and Joe haven't said one unscripted word to each since their conversation after work three weeks ago, Jason told her point-blank (and without any segueing) on Monday morning that -- regardless of what the powers that be decide -- _he's_ already decided that he's _not_ gonna make out with _her_ , and the producers and writers have been strangely mute on the whole kissing thing as they finalise the script for the last episode.

(Which wouldn't be that strange, normally, considering there's more important things to worry about at mid-season's end than whether Weir kisses someone or not, except Rachel let it slip on Tuesday night that she's been asked to form a corruption inquiry. Allegations have been made that some of those same producers and writers have been asking crew members to place bets for them in the kissing pool and the participating actors are now, of course, incensed and threatening to form a Betting Pool Union.)

Torri's pretty sure the _Stargate_ peoples never had to deal with this kind of insanity on set, but makes a note to double check with Amanda the next time they go out to lunch together.

Still, only four weeks, two episodes and one kiss to go. She can survive that.

She thinks.

  


* * *

  


They get their scripts for the last episode before break on a Thursday morning, just before lunch. Torri barely even glances at hers once she's finished signing for it, just tosses it to the side and goes back to studying _this_ week's script, because she'll be damned if she's going to show up on set later today without knowing every syllable of her dialogue back to front and inside out.

There's another knock on her trailer door, and she calls out, "come in," without looking up.

Footsteps, and a door slam, and then there's a bagel under her nose. Literally. "Peace?"

"Wha--?" Flinching back slightly, she looks up from the plate hovering in front of her, to the man holding it, a small half-smile on his lips. "Joe?" she asks, a little bewildered.

He waves the plate closer to her face again. "Peace?" he repeats.

She takes the plate from him, more to stop it from colliding with her nose than out of any real acceptance, and eyes him carefully. He's dressed for scene three, all fatigues and mud-splattered boots, but his flak-vest is open and his face has been scrubbed clean of dirt. For just a moment, she lets herself understand why so many of their fans are female.

"Take a seat," she says, waving him towards her sofa, and he does so with another smile, this one wider than the last. She looks down at the bagel in her hands. "Peace?" she asks suspiciously.

"Chicken, cheese and avocado," he says, pulling a cling-wrapped sandwich of his own out of seemingly nowhere. She watches him move next week's script onto the floor. "I got 'em to toast it for you, too."

"Thank you," she says, staring at it again. "But why --"

"I thought you might be hungry."

"Hungry." She shakes her head suddenly; feels even more confused now than when they were talking three weeks ago. "Joe, wha--?"

His hand touches her knee, just lightly, and the contact silences her far too effectively. "I'm sorry," he says. "What I said -- before -- about Weir not having any relationships? I shouldn't have said that."

She forces herself to speak. "Okay."

He takes his hand back, and looks suddenly uncomfortable. "I mean, it's not like Sheppard and Weir don't --"

She reacts instinctively, leaning forward to press her fingers against his lips, silencing him with touch as he had her a moment ago. " _Okay_ ," she repeats firmly, nodding a little. "Peace."

They have never discussed their characters' relationship (be it professional or otherwise) -- or why she will happily answer any questions about the possibility of the latter with their fans, while he will steadfastly spin those discussions back towards the subject of Sheppard and Teyla -- and she has no desire for them to start now.

He nods as well, and she pulls her hand away and picks up her bagel. It's still warm, and smells great, and suddenly she's starving. She starts to eat.

After a moment, so does he.

  


* * *

  


What follows are two of the strangest days she's had on set since this season started.

Rachel seems to have a constant stream of people needing to speak with her, David can't stop bitching about Andy's directions, Jason's started smiling at her again, the writers have all locked themselves in their offices and are refusing to come out, Joe's back to talking to her like they never spent three weeks _not_ talking, and Coop has completely disappeared.

Even last month's insanity wasn't _this_ bad, and Torri's about to check them all into the local psych ward when she finally gets a chance to read next week's script.

Wraith conspiracy, blah, moral dilemma, blah blah, Atlantis' security about to be compromised, blah blah _blah_. It's a standard enough refrain, for a mid-season finale, only the episode doesn't end there. No, after that there's an off-world mission, a gun fight, and Weir injured, all right before the obligatory fuck-with-the-fans cliffhanger.

What there _isn't_ , however, is a kiss (unless they count Lorne and Cadman performing CPR on Weir -- which, apparently, no one does) and suddenly everyone's behaviour is making a lot more sense.

(They're still all completely insane, of course. But at least now it's a little more understandable.)

Torri almost feels relieved.

  


* * *

  


"Carson says you're gonna be okay -- something about the damage being clean and the shot repairable."

She manages a small smile at his deliberately mangled repetition. "I'm fine, John."

He looks uncomfortable. "Yeah."

There's a brief silence. Her smile fades. "The Meladae --"

John shakes his head, cutting her off. "We did what we had to do. What we could."

She looks at him, a little sadly. "But it wasn't enough."

"No." He looks away then; studies the floor and the walls before slowly meeting her gaze again. "Elizabeth --"

Her turn to cut him off. "I should probably rest."

"Yeah." She looks down at her lap as he shifts off the edge of her bed (sofa) and stares at her hands where they're resting above the hospital blanket (script). "Okay."

Ten seconds, fifteen. She counts them down in her head, and knows that he's doing the same, and she's ready for his touch, is already anticipating the awkward pat on her shoulder that he's going to give her, so it's a shock when that touch _doesn't_ come.

She looks up in confusion. "Jo--?" and that's all she can manage before his lips touch hers.

She's kissed him before, of course, so it's not a complete surprise, this feel of his mouth on hers, but that was different -- _expected_ \-- and for all the takes it took, it was still just contact, just her mouth pressed against his until Andy said 'cut'.

It wasn't like _this_.

This with his lips drifting across hers, stealing that half-formed syllable and returning for more. This with her mouth parting under his, and his tongue slipping against the edge of her teeth. This with the taste of him invading her senses, and the noise he makes in the back of his throat when she kisses him back, her tongue sliding against his.

This with it _lasting_.

She's not sure who pulls back first; isn't sure of anything except the sudden racing of her heart that makes her feel like she really has just been shot. And it takes all of her self-control not to reach up and touch her lips as he keeps pulling back until he's standing beside her, looking far more composed than she feels.

"Get some sleep," he says, turning and moving away, and he's almost at her trailer door when she realises that's his final line in the scene. She shifts on her sofa so fast she almost falls off, swinging her legs down to the floor and ignoring the script that slides to the ground when she stands up.

"Joe --" she says, and watches him stop, one hand on the door latch. She spreads her own hands a little helplessly. "What the hell was that?"

He looks at her briefly, then focuses on the door. "What do you mean?" he asks. "That's the end of the scene."

_Like hell it is!_ she thinks, and can't keep the incredulity from her voice. "Not like that it's not!"

"Oh," he says softly, almost curiously. "Have they rewritten it again?"

She almost, _almost_ reaches for her script to double-check, but she's surprised, not stupid, and that final scene has never had a kiss in it. _Ever_. Before she can remind him of that, however, he has the door open and he's half-way down the steps.

" _Joe!_ "

This time, he doesn't stop.

  


* * *

  


They film the scene two hours later, with half the cast hanging around the set, waiting for them to finish. It's the last day of filming, and (disembodied wraith hands stirring to life notwithstanding) the last scene of the episode, and Torri has to caution herself against fidgeting as she reclines in the hospital bed.

(She'd tried searching for Joe earlier, once her shock had waned enough for her to leave her trailer, but he's obviously better at hiding than she is at seeking. Now, for the first time since the series started, Torri has no idea how one of their scenes will play out in front of the cameras.)

"I should probably rest."

"Yeah. Okay."

Oh shit. She can't look at him; can't _breathe_. God. _What if he..._

His hand touches her shoulder, patting awkwardly. "Get some sleep," he says, and walks away.

Torri breathes out shakily, and leans back against the pillows, her eyes closing.

"And... cut!" Martin's voice carries clearly over the silent set. "That's a wrap everyone -- well done!"

A whooping cheer from cast and crew answers him, and Torri opens her eyes and pushes back the bedclothes.

Martin walks over. "Nice job, Tor," he says, as a PA sticks a clipboard under his nose and indicates where he should sign. "Loved the tenseness you brought to those final shots."

Joe has walked around the back of the set, and she watches him move over to where Jason and Rachel are sitting behind the cameras. He says something that causes them all to laugh, and when Rachel catches her glance, and waves cheerily, it makes her wonder if they're laughing about _her_.

She turns back to Martin, and forces a smile. "No problem."

  


* * *

  


Inside her trailer, her script is still lying on the floor.

She kicks it under the sofa.

  


* * *

  


Freedom. _Finally_.

"Torri! Hey!"

Half-way to the parking lot, Torri stops and waits for Rachel to catch up. "Hey," she says. "What's up?"

"You need a lift tonight?"

Shit. The wrap party. She'd almost forgotten. "Nah, I'm good."

"Okay." With a cheery smile, Rachel hitches the shoulder strap of her bag a little higher and turns towards where her car is parked, five spaces over. "See you there, then."

"Sure." Torri watches her walk away. "Later."

_So close_.

  


* * *

  


When she gets home, she takes Sedge for a walk, waters her plants, makes out a to do list of all the things she needs to do before she heads down to LA (there's no great rush, of course -- while filming is technically over, she has to remain in Vancouver until post-production is finished, just in case she's needed for a re-shoot or voice-over), fixes herself something that's not finger-sized to eat, and then soaks in a hot bath until her fingers are all prune-y and she's running perilously close to late.

She doesn't care. It's only the first of at least three wrap parties that will be thrown over the next couple of weeks, and after all the insanity of late -- not to mention Joe's practical joke earlier today (the only logical explanation, she's decided, for why he'd kiss her like that) -- her cast mates owe her a little tardiness.

  


* * *

  


In the end she's only fashionably late, and when David arrives moments later, he doesn't waste any time handing her a beer from the pack at his side. "Let's get this party started," he says, and she grins, nodding, as they drink to that.

They make small talk for awhile -- she asks where his better half is; he throws the question right back, adding that he hasn't seen Sedge in forever -- and when Jason and David find and join them, the insults start getting _really_ interesting. It's not long before she's gasping for air, her sides aching with laughter.

It's times like this that she really wants to ring up her agent and thank her, a thousand times over, for hooking her up with these people.

"Okay, okay, stop," she manages between giggles, cutting off Jason's latest impersonation, "time out!" She holds up her empty beer bottle, and glances significantly at David's empty six-pack. "I'm going for a refill -- anyone else?"

There's a chorus of please's and thank you's, and Torri wanders off to find the nearest bar (and bathroom).

She's on her way back from the latter, and heading towards the former, when she bumps into Rachel.

"Hey you," she says, smiling, "where've you been hiding?"

"Outside on the patio -- you?"

"The guys and I've requisitioned one of the lounges over there." She points in the general direction and then can't help but laugh when Rachel stands on tip-toes in a fruitless attempt to see over people's heads.

Rachel laughs herself. "I'll take your word for it," she says, giving up and Torri grins.

"Follow me."

They make their way through the crowd, stopping briefly at the bar to collect the requested beverages, and as Torri side-steps one of the lighting guys, Rachel asks if she's seen Joe around anywhere.

"No," she says, "but, hey, that reminds me. I've been meaning to ask you something." She waits as Rachel readjusts her grasp on the beer bottles in her arms. "Who won the bet?"

Joe, she thinks, is probably in for a cut of the winnings, but she doubts even he would be stupid enough to rig it for a sole win after all the drama with the writers and producers a few weeks ago.

"What do you mean?" asks Rachel, starting to move again. "Obviously no one has," she says, and then grins wickedly, " _yet_."

Now it's Torri's turn to stop walking. She frowns. "But I thought that after today..."

Stopping as well, Rachel turns back and rolls her eyes. "Oh, not you too!"

"What --"

"Look," says Rachel, very slowly, "as I've had to remind everyone else recently -- the season is _not_ over yet. It's a _mid_ -season wrap only -- we still have another ten episodes worth of possibilities to go through, remember?"

"But --" _That doesn't make any sense_ , she thinks. _Joe would have only..._

Rachel grins suddenly. "Hey, does this mean you're finally willing to put some money down? 'Cause I've got to say, it's about damn time! Anyone would have thought you and Joe were allergic to gambling or something."

"Joe and I?" she repeats dumbly.

"Yeah. You guys are the only two who haven't --"

"Rachel! Torri! Hi!" They both turn at the exuberant greeting, and Torri can't help but clutch at her beer bottles a little desperately as Peter and Coop join them. Her palms suddenly feel sweaty.

"Hi," replies Rachel cheerily, Torri echoing her.

"Enjoying the party?" asks Peter, but barely waits for them to reply before nodding. "Good, good. That's great." He glances briefly at Coop, who smiles broadly and nods, before facing her again. "So, listen, Torri -- we were just talking about you."

Her stomach plummets instinctively. "Oh?" she manages.

"Yep!" He shares another grin with Coop. "You know this whole kiss thing?" She nods faintly. "Well, we've decided it's a little pointless."

"That's right," agrees Coop. "After all, kissing someone doesn't offer any real insight into Weir and what makes her tick, now does it?"

She could kiss both of _them_ right now. "I couldn't agree _more_ ," she says happily, suddenly feeling better than she has in months. She feels a silly, stupid grin spread across her face and doesn't even try to fight it.

"Excellent!" says Coop.

And Peter says, "we knew you'd agree to it."

"Of course," says Torri.

"Question," interjects Rachel. "What about the continuity aspect?"

Behind Peter and Coop, on the other side of the room, she catches sight of a familiar profile entering the room.

"Well, that's just it," says Coop. "Continuity is a _progression_ of events that don't contradict each other -- having Weir simply kiss someone each season would be nothing more than repetition."

"Right," says Peter cheerfully, "that's why we've decided this makes much more sense."

As she watches him say hello to Mitch, she can't help but wonder what his excuse is for being so late tonight.

"Oh?" says Rachel. "And what 'this' would that be exactly?"

He looks up then, and catches her gaze. She smiles hello, and he returns the expression, adding to it with a little wave. If her hands weren't full of beer, she'd wave back.

"Why, getting Weir laid, of course."

She snaps back to the conversation so fast she's pretty sure she's just given herself mental whiplash. " _What!_ " she says, at the same time as Rachel gives a little cry of delight.

"Hey, it's the next logical step," says Coop.

"Yep," says Peter, nodding. "Step one -- kissing. Step two -- sex."

They grin broadly at her, and she meets their gazes silently, dumbstruck, and then can't help but glance behind them again. Joe's still looking her way, still smiling, and for just a moment, just an instant, she lets herself remember the feel of his touch, of his lips on hers...

Imagines the next, _logical_ , step...

Oh.

_Shit._

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/241739.html>


End file.
